He smiled slightly. Evan had asked exactly the right question. I began to feel the whole thing sliding away.
‘Because, Director,’ he paused very subtly after the word, ‘members of St Mary’s, I knew the location of the remote site. If – as you are all so keen to believe – I am a renegade and a traitor, tell me why didn’t I just give him the details immediately and save the lives of what – thirteen people? If I am indeed as bad as you think me, all I had to do was tell them. After all, according to you, I’d already given them everything else – codes, protocols, etc. So why didn’t I give them what they came for; the location of the remote site, as well?’
Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit.
All around me, I could hear whispering. Suddenly, it was so obvious. Why hadn’t he told them?
Because he wasn’t one of them.
But he ran, the other half of my brain argued.
Yes, he had, but to draw them away. It could have worked.
No, hang on. St Mary’s – my St Mary’s – was only half an hour up the road from The Red House. He could have got help any time. Instead, he’d started a new life – a very successful new life – influencing the great and the good. Politicians, royalty, church leaders, business people, top-ranking police, and military personnel – they all passed through his hands. Forget St Mary’s. What damage had he been doing to the country over the years? And the arrogant bastard hadn’t even bothered to change his name.
Was he going to get away with this?
And then Mrs Partridge stood up.
‘I wonder if I might speak?’
I don’t know about other organisations – I expect it’s the same pretty much anywhere. People think power lies with the Director, or the CEO, or the General, or whoever. No, it doesn’t. The most powerful person in any organisation is the PA to the boss. The keeper of secrets. The only person who understands the filing system. The key holder. The gatekeeper. The one who takes the minutes. And in St Mary’s case, Kleio, Daughter of Zeus and immortal Muse of History, as well.
It was a dramatic moment and not surprisingly, given the Ancient Greeks’ love of drama, she made the most of it. Murmurs swelled and faded again as she walked slowly forwards, her wheels clicking on the hard floor. She took her time and when she eventually arrived to stand in front of the three judges, complete silence had fallen.
But, most importantly, and for the first time, Alexander Knox had started to sweat. On the surface, he was as relaxed and casual as before, but under the glare of those harsh lights, I could see a tiny pulse throb under his jaw.
Evan pushed his chair back slightly and the legs grated on the concrete floor. He raised a hand in apology.
The Director said, ‘Please, Mrs Partridge, go ahead.’
She half-turned to include the judges and Alexander Knox together.
‘Dr Knox is correct. He did not give away the information regarding the location of the remote site.’
Whispers echoed around the hangar. I had the strangest sensation that everything was sliding away. We were losing control. He was going to get away with it.
She walked forwards until she was so close to the judges she could have touched them. They gazed up at her. Her voice carried around the hangar, loud, clear and firm.
‘I took the co-ordinates from the safe and hid them before the attack occurred. Dr Knox could not possibly have given them away to our enemies.’
‘You see,’ shouted Knox. ‘Didn’t I just say that very thing?’ He made a huge effort to regain his composure. ‘I mean, thank you, Mrs Partridge. Thank you for telling the truth today.’ He moved towards her and she drew back behind the table to stand alongside Evan. The guards pulled him back to his seat.
He was gabbling now.
‘I told you, I told you. It’s all a mistake. I know how it looks but that’s not how it was. I thought if I ran, then they’d think I was trying to hide the co-ordinates and come after me. I was trying to draw them away. This is my unit. I would never do anything …’
He was pushed abruptly into his chair and subsided.
‘May I continue?’ asked Mrs Partridge, apparently unruffled.
The Director nodded.
From behind the table, she turned to face Knox. ‘You did give them the co-ordinates, but not the right co-ordinates. You passed on the ones I had substituted some time previously. You, Director,’ she nodded at Pinkie, ‘in your capacity as Chief Technical Officer had the correct ones, of course, as did the then Head of Security, both of you being, in my opinion, loyal and dependable members of this unit. You –’ and she fixed Knox with a look somewhat similar to the harpoon Captain Ahab used to pursue Moby Dick, ‘in my opinion, were not. Therefore, I removed them and substituted – something else. As I had anticipated, you did indeed attempt to betray your colleagues. You were, however, unsuccessful.’
Knox found a voice. ‘You can’t prove any of that.’